


Metamorphosis

by knightcommander



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Echo-Centric Storytelling, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Past McCree/Liao, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23761960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightcommander/pseuds/knightcommander
Summary: It's really hard to be someone you're not. Especially if you're not even human.
Relationships: Echo/Jesse McCree
Comments: 15
Kudos: 27





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks! I think Echo is a neat character and, given her backstory, I can imagine she has a lot on her mind. I am hoping to make this a complete thing, as I think there is a lot of material for Echo's arc. I will do try my best to respond to comments (which are always appreciated)! Regardless, hope you have a great day! Thanks for reading! 
> 
> EDIT: This work probably won't be completed. Gotta admit, I'm outta juice on this one. However I think it still sort of completes itself as an Echo introspective piece!

_[Rebooting].... [Rebooting]..._

Echo felt the circuitry of her heart begin to pulse, painfully expanding the delicate pleura of her internal circuitry. Energy coursed through her synapses, sending her artificial sensory receptors into overdrive, her exterior alight with the sensation of numbness and shock. There was very little panic; after all, Echo knew this feeling rather well. Her body was recovering from a hard reboot and, instinctively, she had already initiated a cursory systems check. The cause of her reboot? An eighty percent hull durability injury. Echo made an internal programming comment that, while more analysis was necessary, her current status was “stable.” For now.

A relaxed sigh, followed by a gruff chuckle across the room. “I wasn’t sure you were gonna make it.”

The telltale southern drawl meant only one thing. Echo’s eyelids fluttered open with a sheepish smile. “Hey there, cowboy.”

Across the room, lounging on a cot, Jesse McCree tipped his hat. With his usual simpered expression, eyes crinkled at the corners, he began to kick off his boot and remove his poncho. Both fell into a heap on the floor, releasing a small cloud of dust and dirt. “You alright?”

Echo tilted her head thoughtfully. “I guess it was a risky move, wasn’t it?”

“A bit.”

She bit her lip. “Sorry...”

Another chuckle. “Nothing to apologize for. That little maneuver saved the day. Talon won’t forget you for a _long_ time.”

Echo’s eyes scanned the room quickly: Watchpoint Gibraltar training barracks. The room was empty except for herself and Jesse, though she could see Angela’s casual clothes neatly folded onto the cot beside her. Her last memory, before her hard reset, was of the Alboran sea mist. She had been flying along the water’s edge before gliding steeply up the white rocky cliffs into a stealth flanking maneuver. The results had been devastating for both parties.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Her answer was a bit too clipped. She sighed ruefully. “I am currently running diagnostics.”

McCree leaned back against the wall behind him, trying to make himself comfortable. “You don’t need any diagnostics. I see the problem plain as day; your stomach is caved in.” He rolled his shoulders. “Sigma’s rock’ll do that.”

“I... see.” Echo looked down at her abdomen. True enough, there was a small concavity above her left hip, though she took umbrage with McCree’s classification of her injury. It was not so bad. “I’ll have Winston see to it later.”

“Good. We need you, y’know. Today would’ve been a mess otherwise.”

Echo scowled. “Not really. Not with you around.”

A scoff. McCree lowered the tip of his hat over his eyes, a signal that the conversation was over. “Like I always said. It’s you they wanted.” 

* * *

Late at night, in the comfort of her Overwatch-provision home, Echo relaxed. She could see the Singapore skyline from her high-rise apartment, the floor to ceiling windows serving as an interface into the real world. She had chosen Singapore from the catalogue, an homage to Doctor Mina Liao, her creator. Having imported Dr. Liao’s memories and thoroughly analyzed and adopted her personality, Echo had determined since that, all things considered, this was home. Sometimes it felt that way. Sometimes, not.

Below her, she could see the faint pinpricks of light that made up the Bugis Night Market. Instinctively, she touched her synthetic fingertips to the glass, the contact creating a faint chime. She had never visited the night market, of course. But she knew from Mina’s stories that it was a spectacle, filled with _real_ life. Humans would mingle, shoulder-to-shoulder, snacking and laughing with friends. Maybe they would squabble, buy each other chicken satay, fall in love... go home. Perhaps there would even be time to shop for baubles and hear a busking guitarist. The possibilities of human life seemed infinite.

Visiting Mina’s memories, and staring out the window, was always bittersweet.

Gliding over to the settee, Echo wondered if, perhaps, the apartment felt sterile because it was not meant for humans. After all, Echo had no need for a bed, a kitchen, a refrigerator, a bathroom, or even air conditioning. Instead, she had a charging station, which beeped oppressively at ten nightly, signaling her mandatory recharge curfew. The essentials.

For a moment, Echo debated throwing on a heavy overcoat and wandering Bugis. She could imagine the liveliness, the happy accident of brushing hands with a stranger, maybe _meeting_ someone. There were omnics in Singapore – lots of them. And they lived with humans and even visited night markets. But Echo felt nothing in common them. She was esteemed Doctor Mina Liao. Or whatever was left of her.

Absentmindedly, Echo reached for the two framed photographs that sat on her coffee table. They were among Mina’s few remaining possessions after the explosion and were always handled with extreme care. Echo had scrutinized them endlessly, allocating nearly three percent of her data storage to her idle observations. Hardly an evening passed without spending at least a few moments analyzing the color palettes, the camera angles, the micro-expressions of everyone in frame.

The first picture was of Mina as a child, standing alongside her parents on a Hawaiian beach (Kaanapali, Maui, according to Echo’s image triangulation). All three figures were windswept, sand covering their shins, eyes squinted in the bright mid-afternoon sun. Mina must have been ten years old, wearing a pale blue frock, the hem soaked in seawater. Echo always tried to envision that moment as her own, Mina’s toothy grin on her own holographic face.

The second photo was of the original Overwatch team, of course. Emily, Angela, Gabriel, and Jack all standing in arm in arm, with Reinhardt towering behind them. The uniforms were antiquated, and the sepia picture faded. However, everyone’s charms still seemed to extend beyond the frame, their broad smiles indicating a recent, euphoric victory. At the corner, Jesse stands coyly, his hand on this brim of his weathered cowboy hat. Echo lingered there, analyzing every pixel of his nonchalant pose, the foreignness of his “cowboy” schtick. Her eyes then flicked over to young Mina, leaning heavily on Jesse’s arm, eyes bright, loose strands of hair falling onto her comely face.

They were all so happy together. Well, for a while. 

Echo turned from her pictures, gliding to her charging station. It was still an hour before her sleep curfew, but the rest was welcome. Besides, Echo had realized that lonesome silence with her thoughts was more damaging than gunfire. Every morning, after evenings such as these, she would awake with virus notifications, thought patterns which required quarantining and diagnostics. Staying awake and simmering in longing was hardly worthwhile. 

Sidling past her overly modern, sterile furniture, Echo sank into her charging station, the lights at the base turning from red to an aqua blue. As she fell asleep, her final thoughts turned to Jesse, with Mina draped on his arm, their smiles, their inside jokes, their...

Sometimes the darkness is a well-earned respite.

* * *

“Are you ready?” 

Angela’s kind voice was like chimes in the wind, and Echo could hardly help but smile. “Echo online.”

“Ausgezeichnet. Stay in my sightline and I can reach you. Today, you will be my wings.”

Echo’s holographic lips twitched playfully. “Of course.”

Angela nodded, her attention immediately turned elsewhere. She was in “pre-mission mode,” as Echo liked to call it, and was busy caring for everyone but herself. Her eyes flitted anxiously between Reinhardt, Hana, Brigitte, and McCree, the dropship’s jostling occasionally causing her focus to falter. “Brigitte, you know to stay behind Reinhardt right? Just because he charges in _foolhardy_ does not mean you need to follow.”

Brigitte rolled her eyes. “Yes, mother.”

“Very funny. Reinhardt, you better take care of her - or _else_.”

Reinhardt shared an exasperated look with Brigitte. “She can handle herself, Angela.”

“Talent or no, that poor girl is your responsibility,” Angela scowled. “You should take this more seriously.”

The old man inhaled deeply. “Brigitte has made her choice.”

McCree’s laidback voice carried over the impending argument. “Gentleman, ladies. _Relax_. We can handle this.”

Echo looked up sharply to McCree, who merely offered his usual coy smile. She registered faintly that, gruff as he was, his expressions always glowed with a warm, casual command of the room. It was the confidence, Echo surmised. Acting as though one always had the upper hand typically correlated to a similar result. She logged that observation in her memory bank, even as she bit her lip shyly.

“You ready for drop?” Echo was awakened from her thoughts by McCree’s voice, his hand resting limply on his knee. “I don’t want you doing anything too risky.” _Like last time._

Echo tilted her head nearly imperceptibly. “No promises, Jesse.”

That earned a chuckle from the cowboy, who responded only by putting on his hat, keeping the brim low over his eyes. “Guess it’ll be my job to keep an eye on you, then.”

“I suppose so.”

Athena’s voice rang clearly through the ship’s speakers, turbulence rocking the passenger bay. “ _Drop commencing in ten seconds_.”

Brigitte thumped her flail against her shield, the hard-light barrier twanging in response. “Let’s do this!” 

Echo felt the bay door open below, and the sweep of wind rise under her wings. Below, she could see the spire of Lijiang Tower rise over the Chongqing skyline, the city glittering in the night. Veins of gold, red, and white light coursed along the major thoroughfares, with popular areas twinkling brightly with activity.

“ _Echo, initial scout maneuvers commencing_.”

The restraints that held her in place suddenly released, and Echo felt herself drop into the darkness above the city. For just a moment, while plummeting, she took a moment to relish the wind on her face, the cool air running along her separated limbs, the intoxicating infinity of falling into such a glimmering world. It was hard to end the moment, but eventually she spread her wings, gliding into the night, chasing the sound of gunfire.

* * *

[ _Ten years prior._ ]

Echo sat on her metal stool, watching Mina work well into the night. The lab was dark and quiet, save for the faint taps of the doctor’s hands alighting across the keyboard, her forehead creased with focus. She paused, stretching her long fingers before slumping back into her chair, mulling over a promising thought. After a pause, she sprung forward, aggressively tapping the backspace button, a long strand of black hair falling in front of her face. She was writing furiously now, no doubt trying to stabilize her newest breakthrough into writing. A twitch at the corner of her lips indicated a tentative, hopeful victory.

This was a process Echo loved to observe. Even as she sat silently, passively in Mina’s workshop, she was gathering data, exploring the contours of human micro expressions, the lulls and crests in productivity. Internally, her data processors whirred and buzzed, analyzing Mina with loving exactitude. She was a model scientist, a benevolent creator, and, as far as Echo could tell, a dutiful mother. “A singular woman,” Echo had read Mina titled in an online magazine article. Doctor Liao called for careful study and, perhaps, emulation. 

“You missed dinner.”

Mina looked up sharply, her expression initially surprised, then pleased. “Hey there cowboy.”

McCree emerged from the shadows of the hallway, a covered plate in his hands. In the workshop’s dim, blueish light, one could hardly make out the unkemptness of his beard, or the mustard stains on his casual button-down shirt. “Howdy, Doc,” he finally replied. “See that you’re working hard.”

A stiff laugh, her fingers continuing to fly across the keyboard. “Hard work is not necessarily progress.”

“I know something that might help with that.”

Mina’s hands stilled, the sinewy contours of her delicate fingers temporarily motionless. McCree placed the plate at her side, the faint clink of ceramic ringing through the workshop. Leaning against the desk, he towered over her, his face illuminated only by the neon light of her computer screen. Echo could just barely hear Mina’s breath hitch.

“I know I ain’t your babysitter, just your guard. But you should eat.”

“And you shouldn’t worry about me so much.” A sigh. Reaching out, she peaked under the cloche, releasing a cloud of warm steam. Underneath Echo could make out Hainanese poached chicken, plated beside a sauce of fresh minced red chili and garlic, as well as side of pandan coconut rice. A single cherry tomato and cucumber slice served as colorful garnish atop the chicken. Mina gasped, her eyes lighting up. “How did you know!”

A low chuckle. “I thought that’d get your attention.”

“It’s my favorite! I can’t believe you got the chef to prepare it. Where did you find chilis? They’re so rare now!”

“Oh, you know.” McCree said, his words dripping with smug, southern charm. “I have my ways. I guess I just thought you deserved a taste of home. I know it’s been a while.”

“It has. It’s.. well. Thank you, Jesse. Really.” 

“Well, don’t think too much of it.” McCree nodded, pushing himself off the desk. “Enjoy your dinner, Doc. And don’t work yourself too hard.”

Mina twisted in her chair, wide eyes following him as walked away. “Talk to you later, yeah?”

McCree tipped his non-existent hat, stepping into the hallway. “Anytime.”

For a moment, the cowboy was gone and the room was palpably darker. Echo watched as the excitement bled from Mina’s face, her pupils contracting back to physiologically average size. The doctor cracked her knuckles, leaning back in her chair with a heavy sigh, eyes focused ahead on something distant. Echo could not possibly divine the exact subject of Doctor Liao’s thoughts with any statistical precision, though the omnic had a hunch – one she did not quite understand. Suddenly, Mina sprang from her chair, swiping the plate of food up in her arms. “Wait,” she called out. “Jesse?”

The muffled sound of footsteps. “Ma’am?”

“I was, ah, just thinking. How about now? I suppose I _could_ use a break.”

“Thought you might say that,” he chuckled, his silhouette reemerging from the hallway. Without missing a beat, he extended his arm to her, palm up. “After you, Miss Mina.”

Closing her eyes momentarily, Mina reached forward and grasped his hand before stifling a giggle. "So you never drop the act?" 

"What act?" 

Echo listened carefully as their steps faded away, the chime of Mina’s clipped English accent ringing throughout the hall, complimented by the occasional hum of McCree’s low voice. Eventually an hour passed, and Mina’s desk light clicked off. Then too, the computer screens faded to black. Echo peered across the room, her holographic faceplate her lone source of light.

It was all a lot to process. Literally.

Echo could feel her own torso burn with the effort, her behavioral cores swimming with new data, organizing and parsing almost infinite moments of synchronized, symmetrical micro expressions. Her hard drive was expanding, creating a new web of content, populated with the pair’s heartrate changes, the flush of their skin, the subtle uncrossing of arms, the unexpected blush. _It was all so confusing, and interesting, and_... Echo bit her lip. _It was all so unattainably human._

An inhuman swallow. Echo decided to experiment. After all, discovery without experimentation was mere theory. Theory, while scientifically salient, would simply not satisfy her curiosity. Scooting forward on her stool, Echo straightened her shoulders, wings tucking close to her back. She tried to imagine what it was like to be Doctor Liao, to have a strand of hair in your face, to have a favorite food, to feel the excitement of a breakthrough. These moments were easy to catalogue, but hard to truly emulate. _After all, how would I know for certain?_

Echo’s eyelids fluttered, letting her holographic lips part ever so slowly. Pupils dilating, she reached out to thin air, her palm upward, chin tilted. She could feel heat on her cheeks, a sort of uncomfortable emptiness in her stomach, a tickle at the back of her neck. As she reached, dust floated from her shoulders, catching just the faintest blue light, a miasma of nearly imperceptible color percolating around her stiff hands. She could envision the object of Mina’s affections before her, looking at her just as she desired, mirroring her expressions, reaching back towards her outstretched hand. If she closed her eyes, she could devote processing power to feeling the calluses of his hands, the warmth, the confidence...

It was easy, she realized, to emulate Mina’s physical expressions and symptoms perfectly. But everything else? Echo quickly laced her fingers together on her lap, unsure. And perhaps embarrassed. _That was a new one._

* * *

_[Present day]_

“Good work out there today. I see your accuracy has improved since last week.” Angela put down her data pad, eyes flitting to Echo. “I am impressed by how quickly you’ve adapted to your tri-shot recalibrations.”

Echo smiled pleasantly. “That was always the idea, right?”

Angela sniffed. “I suppose so. Still... the improvements are remarkable. Doctor Liao would be proud.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Echo blinked.

“And I noticed you had good synergy with Jesse. Excellent. I’ll try to encourage Athena to pair you two more often on missions. Is that alright?” A heavy pause. “Echo?”

“Yes,” the omnic finally managed. “That works.”

“Oh no,” Angela suddenly sighed. “Winston missed a spot. Come here.” Pulling out a damp wipe, she gestured for Echo to sit at her side. “Let me just get the last of this dirt out.”

Gliding over, Echo did her best to not roll her eyes. “It’s really fine,” she chuckled. “It’s just dirt.”

“And?” Angela got to work, scrubbing at the schmutz on her upper left wing. For a moment, the pair was silent, Echo enduring Angela’s oppressive mothering with just enough composure. She continued, “You know you can tell me anything, right? I was best friends with Mina, back in the old days. I...” Angela inhaled sharply, her hands dropping into her lap. “I was hoping we could be friends too.”

Echo tilted her head, meeting Angela’s gaze. “Don’t be silly. Of course we’re friends.”

A relieved exhale. “That’s so good to hear, from you especially.” She patted Echo’s hand, then dropped the dirty wipe into the trash bin at her heels. “It’s just that you remind me so much of her. We were all so sad when we, _you know_ , heard what happened. It’s like I get to have my friend back, in a way. I hope you don’t take that wrong.”

“No, not at all.”

“I mean, I bet that’s why you and Jesse work so well together. Because of, well, _you know_.”

Echo blinked passively. “Oh?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.” Angela laughed. “My apologies. However, if you’re ever interested, I could take a look at some of your memories. I know Winston could find a way to make your processing data searchable. There might be something useful about Mina. Something we missed. We could even see if there’s a reason why you–“

“I’m fine, thanks,” Echo suddenly snapped, her voice cold. Gliding to her feet, she daintily brushed off her hands, turning to give Angela a pleasant, if entirely artificial, smile. “I think I should rest now. Thanks for the help today.”

Echo hardly waited for a response, her wings twirling about her torso as she hastily drifted from the room. Hands shaking, she could hear Mercy’s faint voice calling after her, though she hardly cared. After all, it was nighttime – the safest time to fly in the city. And she needed to clear her mind. 


	2. II

_[Twenty Years Prior]_

Doctor Liao peered into Echo’s blue faceplate, their foreheads almost touching, eyes level. “Echo, listen to me very carefully,” her voice wavered. 

Echo’s eyes opened slowly, a faint whir emanating from her exposed core. She had been mounted onto a large mechanical arm, one which allowed Doctor Liao and her assistants better access to coordinate technical repairs and recalibrate. As a necessity, the position also heavily limited Echo’s independent movement. Glancing down, Echo could see her processing units exposed, her abdomen without its usual sleek shell covering.

She could see Mina’s hands too, hovering over her internals, her delicate fingers shaking. She was holding a small silver plate, the size of a quarter between her thumb and index finger. It glowed with hazy red light.

Echo’s eyes darted back up. “Is everything alright Doctor Liao? Can I help?”

“No, my dear,” Mina answered, her voice shaking. “Everything is going to be okay. I promise.” She swallowed, reaching up to wipe the corner of her eye with her palm. “Things are just going to be different now.”

Echo’s brow furrowed, her mind racing. “Different? Is that bad?"

“No, not necessarily,” Mina sniffed, a hard lump in her throat. “Change can be good – very good. But sometimes it can feel like saying goodbye.”

“Doctor Liao?”

The intercom crackled with a deep voice. “ _Let’s hurry this up_.” 

Trembling, Mina turned the plate over in her hands, her fingertips washed in crimson light. She could see the exact port that it belonged: along the twenty-seventh neural network passage, docked underneath the T12 thoracic disc. It was a straight connection to every processing unit in the omnic body.

Echo watched the trace of Mina’s gaze, felt the quiver in her body and heard the rattle in her chest. _So_ , she thought coolly, _this is it._ Closing her eyes, she leaned forward slowly, letting her forehead rest on Doctor Liao’s brow. “That’s alright. I can be whatever you need.”

“I know.” Mina reluctantly said. With a hard swallow, she finally inserted the red chip into place. It clicked with a dull, anticlimactic snap.

Instantly, Echo’s head lulled back, her eyes clouding and a small, shocked sigh escaping her lips. As her system recalibrated to new settings, she felt certain mental cores deactivate, their neural paths graying before completely withering. Her limbs felt heavy too, and suddenly stiff, as though she was made of lead. She struggled to keep her eyes open, her head up, her mind focused. In a last ditch effort, Echo attempted reinvigorate her nerve endings, allocating electrical stimuli to her hands. But that too suddenly felt impossible.

Mina stepped back, eyes wet. “I’m so sorry, Echo. It’s not what I wanted either.” 

The intercom buzzed again. “ _Did it work?_ ”

“Yes,” Mina replied. “The failsafes seem are working. But I need to run more diagnostics.”

“ _Good. When can it be deployed?_ ”

“Soon.” Her voiced cracked, though she otherwise held composure. “I’ll send you my performance projections based on the new, limited parameters.”

“ _Looking forward to your report_. _”_

The intercom chimed sunnily after he ended the call, and Mina finally collapsed into her chair. Emotionally exhausted, she let her head fall into her hands. As Echo’s languid, unfocused eyes followed her, the omnic could faintly hear the Doctor’s despondent murmuring: “ _So much for making the world a better place_.”

* * *

_[Present Day]_

“Why don’t we do a bit of practicin’ before the mission?”

Echo laughed. “That doesn’t seem like practical use of Overwatch resources.”

“So, when’s that stopped you?”

She rested her hand to her hip, feigning deep, conflicted introspection. “I do suppose Lena used the training room yesterday. And I seem to recall she wasted multiple pulse bombs...”

McCree pulled the cigar from his lips, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Is that so? Well, personally speaking, and this is a life philosophy of mine, anything that’s fun isn’t a waste.” He stood up, stubbing out his cigar. “Come on.”

The corners of Echo’s mouth twitched. “Did someone say ‘fun?’”

“See, thought that’d get your attention.”

Levitating to her feet, Echo followed after McCree, the pair walking down one of the many long, concrete hallways of Ecopoint Antartica. Outside thick windows, Echo could see the occasional flurry of snow, kicked up by the howling winds. Despite not feeling the cold, _per se_ , a shiver ran down her back.

“Here we are,” McCree said, making a left.

Stepping through the door frame, Echo was greeting by Overwatch’s training facility. Though she had visited it several times, she had never used the facility herself. Rather, she usually watched, unobtrusively seated in the corner as Brigitte and Mei sparred. After all, she had never been given express permission to train, being an omnic. To be fair, she had never felt the urge either.

“You ever used a revolver before?”

“No,” Echo replied, watching McCree pull his gun from the weapon rack. “But I know how to shoot it.”

He snorted. “You sure about that?”

“It can’t be that hard,” Echo replied. “It’s a projectile.”

Handling the revolver reverently, McCree turned to her. “It’s a bit more than that.” 

Spinning on his heels, McCree abruptly turned, the barrel of the revolver clicking and turning in time. In the blink of an eye, he pulled the trigger, black smoke wafting from the chamber. Echo winced, her hands clasped at her chest in surprise. Across the room, a paper target shuddered with impact, a fresh bullet hole formed in the center of the red bullseye. Echo could hear the bullet clink to the ground, having struck the back wall of the training lab. “Impressive.”

McCree chuckled. “See, you have to really know a weapon like this. Like it’s an extension of your own arm.” He held the gun aloft, his arm taut, emphasizing the lean muscle groups in his forearm. 

Having quickly regained composure, Echo tilted her head, a sardonic smile on her lips. In one fluid motion, she raised her right arm, the limb phasing with blue light. She stretched her fingers experimentally, letting the gleam of her inner-reactors catch the delicate nuances of her silver fingertips. “Like this?”

Extending her arm forward forcefully, she channeled her energy core, the heart of her body whirring with unbridled power. From her fingertips exploded three white-hot projectiles, moving in unison. They impaled the paper target, forming a perfect triangle around McCree’s bullseye. Echo pulled her hand back, barely concealing the glow of pride.

“Not bad,” McCree smiled, obviously a bit impressed. “But you know it’s not the same.”

“No?” Echo deflated.

He reached forward, placing his revolver in Echo’s outstretched palm. Her fingers curled around the grip, accepting the revolvers surprising heft. For the briefest moment, McCree’s hand brushed hers, his thumb bracing the back of her hand. Echo’s breath hitched. “See, you’ve basically got a shotgun. But this? The Peacekeeper is a precision weapon.” He released his hand. “Why don’t you try it out?”

A protest rose in her throat. “I can’t. It would be weird, wouldn’t it? It would.”

He simply laughed. “Not at all. Besides, I hear you’re a quick learner. Try _duplicatin’_ my shot.”

Echo rolled her eyes, though she could hardly help from smiling. With a certain obstinance, she raised the revolver, focusing on keeping her outstretched arm perfectly still. With a sudden bang, she pulled the trigger. Instantly, a hole appeared in the paper target, thought it was several inches to the right of the bullseye. Echo groaned.

“Not bad!” McCree exclaimed, his southern drawl cutting through his enthusiasm.

“But not good.” Echo replied.

“No one is perfect at anything at first. These things take time. And besides,” he continued, “you are one hell of shot on the field. I wish I could learn a thing or two from you. But, in the meantime,” his head cocked, “I could give you a lesson. On the house, of course.” 

McCree reached over to Echo’s limp hand, still holding the Peacekeeper in a vice grip. Grasping her hand, he raised the gun towards the target, his hand enfolding hers. Together they stood, just inches apart, McCree’s breath tickling the back of her neck. Faintly, she observed that she could feel the heat of his torso on her shoulders, the shift of his weight through his arm. Echo even imagined she could sense the trace of his eye, lingering on the curve of her artificial neck – _though maybe that was just wishful fantasy._ She swallowed.

“See how I keep some of my palm under the grip?” He squeezed her hand, his breathe warm on the holographic crown that circled the back of her head. “That helps with the recoil.”

“Of course,” Echo answered, her gaze focused straight ahead. If she looked back at him, if they made eye-contact... _he would know_. “And when you fire?”

“Well, hell, I actually pull the trigger mostly with the middle finger.” He wiggled it demonstratively. “I use the index finger to help aim.”

“Oh?” Echo adjusted her grip, letting her index finger slip off the trigger. In its place, her middle finger slipped up, resting on McCree’s. She took a shallow breath. “Is this better?”

“Oh, that’ll do.” He shifted his stance. “Ready?”

Echo nodded, her eyes narrowed with focus. She realized now, studiously watching his hand, that Jesse mostly pulled the trigger with his middle finger. His index was used for aim support, though it still sat lightly on the trigger. His thumb... well, she finally understood why his _thenar eminence_ muscle group was so enlarged. His thumb was his fine adjustment tool, the sinews of his hand taut as he prepared to fire. “When you’re ready.”

Time dilated as Echo took in the moment, millisecond by millisecond. She could feel the muscles of his hand tense, his weight shifting ever so slightly. Together, they pulled the trigger, the blast ringing through Echo’s synapses. With a shudder, the recoil rippled through her arm and, instinctively, she braced a shoulder against McCree's chest. On the practice target, a dark circle smoked a half inch above the bullseye. _So close!_

“See, you’ve got it.” McCree simpered, taking the Peacekeeper from Echo’s hand nonchalantly. Holstering the weapon, he rested his hands on his hips. “So, what’s next?”

Echo coyly bit her lips, nervous to even make the suggestion. “How about a friendly spar?”

“Oh, _you’re_ _on_.”

* * *

That night, Echo slept fitfully. Within her recharge station, images flitted before her eyes, her RAM crackling with energy. She did not always dream – that had started relatively recently. She wondered if the failsafes Doctor Liao has implanted were the cause. Or perhaps it was their absence. After being “re-recruited” to Overwatch, she had been granted fuller autonomy and that hardware had been removed. Echo supposed she should be grateful.

A click, as her synapses aligned. Echo’s faceplate glowed dimly, the projection of her unconscious expressions appearing as static.

_His arms, chopping wood in the backyard, brow furrowed with effort. A cricket chirped nearby, followed by the soft hew of a nesting mockingbird. Even from the patio, she could smell the slight scent of musk, the occasional waft of licorice originating from the lavender hyssops that swayed in the wind._

_From their little country home, situated in the heart of the New Mexican prairie, Echo could see for miles._

Her fingers twitched, even as they rested against her chest.

_Jesse paused, wiping his brow. Turning, he smirked. “You watchin’ me work now?”_

_Echo looked away sheepishly, smoothing the folds of her pale blue dress. Strands of dark hair fell into her eyes, which she brushed away coyly._

_"_ _Well, glad I could put on a show.” With a heave, his shoulders flexed, again bringing the axe down hard on the stump. A few wood chips splintered. “You’re quiet,” he finally said, breathing slightly strained._

_E_ _cho opened her mouth, but she said nothing –_ could _say nothing. Her mouth felt dry, the air gone from her lungs. For the life of her, she could not remember Doctor Liao’s voice, the lilt of it, the crisp accent. She had blanked, unsure of how to speak. Suddenly, it was too hot, the chorus of crickets chirping deafening. As the bright, midday sun threatened to obscure her vision, dust filled her throat, and she could sense her eyes brimming with water._

_McCree dropped the axe, striding towards her. Concern flashed in his eyes. “What’s wrong, love? Is the baby alright?”_

With a jolt, she awoke, her visuals cluttered with error warnings. _A_ _virus_. With a sigh, she glided from her recharge station, alighting upon her utilitarian couch. Outside, she could see the Singapore sunrise, orange light beginning to filter through the narrow streets. Next to her on the table, a cold mug of coffee sat, undrunk for several weeks. Echo could see a beetle swimming in the dark fluid, its meaningless strokes distraught and dazed.

 _It’s not a virus_ , Echo thought, her mind already carefully fixating the dream into her hard drive. She had never dreamed before Mina died and, if she had, it was always in fragmented, incomprehensible strings of data that amounted to nothing. But this felt real. It felt _good, like it was real – but better than real._

Echo sighed, swiping away the error messages. While she had survived malware and DDOS attacks before, this was different. And perhaps it _was_ foolish of her to ignore the late Doctor Liao’s diagnostic suite so readily. But forgetting that dream was simply not an option. 

Leaning forward, she regarded the beetle in her coffee coldly, watching its spindly legs thrash. It had a shimmering body, with an inordinate number of eyes (no doubt due the radioactivity that now permanently percolated throughout the atmosphere). With a pitying sigh, she dipped her finger into the cup, letting the insect crawl up her porcelain hand, then onto her wrist. As she eyed it thoughtfully, studying its strange anatomy, it suddenly unfurled layered, translucent wings. Echo watched, somewhat jealously, as it flew away, iridescent blue wings glittering in pre-dawn light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! 
> 
> P.S. I know NOTHING about real guns, so, sorry if I butchered any revolver descriptions!


	3. III

_“Perhaps it’s better if you stay inside.”_

Echo sat uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, her London hotel room bathed in bright morning light. Outside, she could hear the dull roar of daily life, window grates being raised, the hoarse shouts of delivery-men, and the occasional car horn.

_“London isn’t really safe ... for you, right now.”_

Lena’s words rang in Echo’s ears, her crisp British accent laced with awkwardness. Mindlessly, Echo reached for a random magazine from the bedside table. Angela had left behind a thick stack of them – mostly fashion magazines, but a few home décor offerings too. She flipped open to a random page, her eyes scanning a full-page spread of a bone-thin model, dressed in a simple tulle gown, blue light catching the fabric’s translucent edges. She leaned against a rustic windowsill, the model’s expression soft and thoughtful. Echo closed the magazine, unimpressed.

She suddenly was acutely aware of the tick of the clock.

_“I promise, we’ll hang out later tonight!”_

Echo wondered whether these words were meant to soothe her. They didn’t, of course. But she could hardly resent good intentions.

_Tick, tock_. Where the hotel room’s taupe closing in too? Perhaps just very, _very_ slowly.

A heavy knock. Echo startled, gliding to her feet quickly. “Who’s there?”

The thick drawl was unmistakable. “Room service.”

Echo rolled her eyes, opening the door quickly. Outside, Jesse stood there simply, dressed in a worn button-down shirt and faded jeans, cowboy hat in hand. His sleeves had been rolled up, prominently displaying his mechanical left arm. She smiled wryly. “Oh, did I call?”

“In a manner of speakin’. May I?”

Echo glided aside, closing the door behind McCree. For a moment, he stood in the center of the hotel room, eyeing the place. His gaze carefully avoided lingering on Echo’s portable charging station, awkwardly propped up next to the sofa, beeping faintly. “You know, I reckon your room is nicer than mine.”

“Jealous?”

“Hmph. TV’s bigger.”

Echo chuckled lightly. “Well, if you want to trade rooms, be my guest.”

“Nah, I think I’ll live.” He placed his hat gently onto the coffee table, smiling warmly as he turned back to Echo and smoothed his hair with one calloused hand. “Well, aren’t you gonna ask why I’m here?”

“I was.”

“And?”

Echo rested her hands on her hips playfully, head cocked. “Jesse McCree, what brings you to my hotel room at nine in the morning on a Tuesday?”

“Ah, never thought you’d ask.” With a rueful grin, he reached into his back pocket, pulling out a thick envelope, its edges slightly bent. Stepping forward, he extended it towards her. “Happy birthday, Echo.”

She blinked. _Birthday_? Suddenly, she felt like her memory processors freeze up. “I...” she smiled awkwardly, eyes glancing away. “It’s not-“

Jesse interrupted. “I know, I know. You hate bein’ the center of attention. But I just wanted you to know I didn’t forget.” He shook the envelope in his hand. “Now, just take the damn thing before I get nervous.”

Whatever Echo was going to say before, she swallowed it.

Taking the envelope with uncertain fingers, she nodded. “That’s-this is really kind of you Jesse. You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Oh, I know.” He chuckled. “But you deserve it.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. But still. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. Really.”

_Was that a blush?_ Echo turned the envelope over in her metallic fingers. “Should I open it now, or?”

“No.” He said sharply, then exhaled loudly. “Sorry, that sounded wrong. It’s just that...”

Echo smiled. “You have to meet back up with Lena. No worries.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, don’t let me hold you up from saving the world.”

He snorted, grabbing his cowboy hat from the table and putting it on. “Hardly anything _that_ serious. All the same, wish you could join us. This city’s just, well. Y’know.”

Echo felt her fingers burning around the envelope in her hand. She glided over to the door, opening it smoothly for Jesse. “Hey, I get it. See you later?”

Tipping his hat, he simpered. “Lookin’ forward to it.”

* * *

Echo’s fingers tore impatiently at the paper, her eyes wide and eager. She had never received a personal letter before, not to mention one for her "birthday." She inhaled deeply, stilling her hands and forcing herself to slow down and take care with the envelope. After a moment, she blinked, sliding the card out of the plain white paper.

A simple card. Plain green. No nonsense. Probably stationary borrowed from the hotel’s front desk, Echo guessed. But the card was thick. Clearly, there was something inside, something that made the card bulge and had warped the corners. She hardly knew what to expect. But she did not expect photographs.

They tumbled out, floating to the floor haphazardously, a small leaf pile of memories. Echo scrambled to pick them up, her face plate bright and emitting a faint whir. The photos were old, some had water damage, or creases. These photographs, Echo realized, were loved, carried - held onto for years. They were Mina.

_Echo,_

_Happy birthday! Sorry I know my penmanship ain’t great. Sorry if this is hard to read. I’ll keep it short. Also, I don’t know if you care about birthdays. Whatever – everyone deserves their own special day. Hope you’re having a good one._

_I know this isn’t a real present, but I thought you might want to have these photos. I would’ve gotten you a bottle of scotch but somehow I doubt that would have gone over right. Anyway, I know you miss her too. Thanks for everything and take care._

_Yours,_

_Jesse_

_P.S. I hope this is the right birthday. If it ain’t, please don’t embarrass me. Kind of hard to figure out with the whole omnic thing. I'm sure you get it._

_[Photograph 1]_

Jesse and Mina in business suits, sitting. They look awkward, their smiles tense and professional. They are in some kind of boardroom, the light sterile. In the background the blur of Ana can be seen shaking someone else’s hands. Their nametags proudly display their station within Overwatch. Jesse looks particularly uncomfortable, his suit ill-fitting and wrinkled. Mina, however, looks sharp. In front of her, she has an uneaten scone nestled in a napkin, along with a notepad. Her black hair is neatly braided, her accessories polished. This looks like a PR photo – _a first meeting?_

_[Photograph 2]_

Dark lighting, maybe a bar with cherry wood paneling on the walls. A large table with lots of drinks and half-eaten appetizers. Mina is talking to Jesse, her mouth open in mid-sentence, her hands blurry with movement. She’s still in her suit, though Jesse has changed into something more casual. She has forgotten to take off her nametag and her hair is unbraided. Next to her, half of Angela’s profile can be seen, her dainty hand wrapped around a martini. Jesse is listening intently to Mina, cigar nonchalantly held aloft. Both of his arms are intact. His mouth seems about to open, as though to respond to something Mina has said. One eyebrow raised. A candid shot.

_[Photograph 3]_

Mina is leaned over a plate of pad-thai in a restaurant. She is smiling broadly, her eyes mid roll, almost as though she is about to protest to the photo. In the restaurant, her brown eyes are clear and bright, the warm light catching her face. She seems amused, her cheeks a bit flushed. It’s not a flattering photo, but certainly a happy one.

_[Photograph 4]_

A selfie, out on some rocky pier. _Gibralta_ r? Mina is holding the camera up above them, Jesse’s arm around her shoulder. The sun must be bright, because they are both squinting. They seem dressed for a chill, Jesse in his cowhide jacket and Mina in a crewneck sweater. Mina’s hair is blowing slightly into Jesse’s face, though he doesn’t seem to mind. Behind them, waves lap at the rocks, the sky partly cloudy.

_[Photograph 5]_

Mina reading in bed. She’s wearing sweatpants and a tank top, sitting cross-legged with a book in her lap. Beside her, the bedside lamp provides a warm glow. The bed comforter is fluffy and white, pillowing around her. Strands of black hair have fallen into her face, but she seems not to notice, entirely engrossed in her reading, eyes relaxed. _Did she know this photo was being taken?_

_[Photograph 6]_

In the lab. Mina is surrounded by her machines, little green signal lights coming from her various creations. In one hand she has a pen raised above a notepad. The other hand is raised in protest of the photo, her head bowed sheepishly. All the same, she wears a poorly disguised smile. Her hair is collected in a messy bun, dark circles under her eyes. Whoever is behind the camera has earned a lot of goodwill and patience.

_[Photograph 7]_

Mina stands over Echo, her mechanical body laid out on a metal table. She is adjusting the ball mechanic in Echo’s left knee, her back to the camera. Across the table, Jesse stands ready, offering her a screwdriver. There’s no life in Echo, just bits of metal configured into her shape, the face plate a blank wash a pale blue _._ Next to Mina lies a notepad, covered in incomprehensible scribbles. Though her face is obscured, her body seems tense and rigid. Jesse’s expression is soft, helpful – _worried_? His brown hair looks greasy and unkempt. Shoulders hunched. The skin connecting to his mechanical arm looks pink and smooth.

_[Photograph 8]_

The last one.

Another selfie. This time, Jesse holds the camera. His arm is around Mina, her arms encircling his torso, head resting heavily on his chest, eyes closed contentedly. She looks tired – they both do. Dark bags under their eyes. Jesse smiles faintly at the camera, his beard overgrown and long. They seem to be sitting on a sofa. Mina is wearing a light blue dress, gold earrings dripping from below an elegant bun of hair. Jesse is dressed in a button-up shirt, one that isn’t wrinkled. He’s combed his hair. They seem happy, but tired. But happy.

* * *

Echo laid out the photos in a neat row on the coffee table, each one perfectly spaced and organized as chronologically as possible given the data. They were handled reverently, careful to not bend or warp them further. Of course, she had mentally scanned them. But the physical copies had a power of their own.

A day of analytics. A day of overthinking.

As the sun set, Echo felt the pull of her charging station. Not from physical exhaustion but something else. But "sleep" seemed like a cop-out. What if Jesse came back like he promised? _What if..._?

Some hopes come wrapped in too many fears.

Pressing a cold finger to [Photograph 3], Echo exhaled. Experimentally, she stretched her other arm, the form glittering with fragmented pixels. The data was there. She could... _be Mina_. For a little while. Not permanently. But perhaps long enough. Just enough for Jesse.

But should she?

It’s not the first time she had considered it. And she had felt the pain of being an imperfect copy much more acutely before. But never with these stakes. If she had read Jesse’s perceptible vitals correctly, the beat of his heart, the flush of his face... Well. She had never had so much to lose. 

Her arms fragmented, shards of blue light casting about the dimly lit hotel room. Outside, the sun had set, and only a few streetlights illuminated the sidewalk below. She felt hazy, the data points fuzzy around the wrist. She carefully combed through the memories, her eyes zeroing in on Mina’s wrist in [Photograph 6.] Slowly, the light hardened, forming the right delicate dimensions, the gentle curve of her forearm. It was easy enough to do the rest.

Standing in front of the mirror, Echo sighed. Biting her lip, she brushed a strand of black hair from her brow, retying her long black hair into a braid through a jagged reforming of her translucent image. Silently, methodically, she brushed away a few stray pixels from under her eye, smoothing the wrinkles, and placing a few freckles she had missed. _Mina_. As she was. As Jesse remembered.

Her fingers dug into the mirror’s vanity, her teeth clenching as she noticed the percolation of blue light on her skin. She shimmered, the mirage flowing and shifting momentarily. Narrowed her eyes, she forced herself to breathe, to focus and settle into the form – to accept that nothing would change the artificial glow of her blue holographic form. But she was stable enough. _Mina enough_ , in some ways.

A knock.

Every pixel in Echo’s form shuddered, rippling and reassembling in turn. She stood in front of the mirror, paralyzed. Her voice was hoarse. “Who is it?”

“Room service. As promised.”

Echo would have rolled her eyes at his second attempt at that joke if she had not been so nervous. “OK, um. Ah - just a second.”

For a moment she thought about “changing.” This was horribly embarrassing after all. She wasn’t Mina and never had been. Perhaps a cheap replica, a last ditch effort at a legacy destined to fail. But a small part of her was bold. Or perhaps greedy. Or mostly just lonely. She held up a hand, blue light radiating from her smooth skin. She had done a good job. Even the faux hair follicles were placed appropriately. With a blink, she selected a suitable dress from her wardrobe. The tulle dress from Angela’s magazine came to mind immediately, pouring onto her form like a cascade. _She would wear this, right?_ And the light fabric masked some of the holograph distortions well enough. 

Walking to the door, her hands trembled, equal parts hopeful and horrified. But there was something else: the feeling of starchy carpet crunching under her bare feet, the comforting weight of existence on her limbs. Gravity, while oppressive, felt very human. She had never understood that fully.

Grasping the brass handle firmly, Mina took a breath and opened the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Sorry about the cliff-hanger! If it's any consolation, I am already working on the next scene. I just kind of got impatient and wanted to publish what I already had!


End file.
